Betrayed Read online

  Harvest of Blood

  Betrayed

  Ifeanyi Esimai

  Copyright © 2019 by Ifeanyi Esimai

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  (eISBN)13: 978-1-63589-709-8

  Editing by Lee Caleca - Caleca Editing Services

  PUBLISHED BY CIPARUM PRESS

  an imprint of Ciparum LLC

  270 Sparta Ave., Suite 104, PMB 152

  Sparta, NJ 07871

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  NOTE TO THE READER

  MORE BOOKS BY IFEANYI ESIMAI

  Author’s Note

  I borrowed a sticky pen and an old receipt from one of the apprentices that wandered into the empty Car Wash. “Dayo, you don’t mind if I write?”

  “Not at all. I heard the story a lot as a child. Remember in this part of the world stories were passed down orally, nothing was written down.”

  I nodded and flipped the paper over to the plain side with something brown smeared on a side of it. I hoped it was just grease.

  “So, let me recap, Doc,” said Dayo. “Kemi, Nuju’s sister, was selected by the priestesses as a candidate for the Harvest of Blood, but Nuju convinced the head priestess to let her go in Kemi’s place. Their brother Dotan was also selected, and he and Nuju were put on a cart bound for Ode. Prince Segun, who was also on the expedition, had the close call with the panther, but Nuju’s quick thinking and skill saved him from the attack. As a show of gratitude, Prince Segun set Nuju free, but she refused to go and leave Dotan, so instead, she tricked her brother and had him set free in her place. After another night, Nuju and the entourage finally reached Ode. Now this is where the story really gets interesting, Doc. And, yes, there is plenty of magic ahead. Perhaps more than you are willing to believe? We shall see.”

  Chapter One

  Compared to Nuso, Ode was a thousand times more magnificent. The vast walls surrounding the city looked strong and impregnable. How could one survive here? We had passed the forest on our way in. “People have to leave the city each time to hunt and gather?” I wondered out loud.

  Our cart surrounded by soldiers ambled through the muddy road. It had rained, and the road was a mixture of mud and horse manure. People walked by the wayside to avoid the worst of the murk in the center. The odor differed from Nuso—horse manure, unwashed bodies, and human feces.

  We joined the line of humanity heading towards the open gate.

  Other roads joined the road that led towards the city like tributaries joining a river. Other carts and carriages joined behind us. The road led to the open city gate. In the top part of the opening were spikes that looked like spears pointing downwards. It looked like a barrier that could be lowered to prevent people from coming in.

  The sound of hoofs gave way to a hollow sound as we rode over the wooden bridge. A different odor assaulted my nostrils. I looked over at the water. It was black, with things floating in it.

  I admired the pillars of the opening as people ahead walked through after talking to some soldiers. Thick ropes attached to each side of the bridge disappeared up the posts. What were they for? The closer we got to the end of the bridge, the more I realized the ropes were to lift the bridge; it was a line of defense.

  Prince Segun and Bayo had ridden off earlier, taking the panther pelt with them. Good thing Dotan wasn’t here. I didn’t know what the future held for me in Ode, but I’d do whatever I needed to in order to survive.

  From conversations I overheard among the soldiers, Princess Bonetta was also arriving at Ode today from the northern city of Qtari. What type of man would send his daughter away to live in another country for ten years? She would be a totally different person from the one that left.

  The closer we got to the gate, the slower our cart moved. I heard different languages and different dialects of the common language spoken. From what I observed, it was easier to get out of the city than in.

  Travelers, alone or in groups, were all questioned and then searched by soldiers. Only some horse-drawn carriages with curtains over the windows were waved through without being searched. Some important Oloye, or noblemen.

  “What do we have here?” asked an older soldier with graying at the temples when it was our turn to cross the gate. His uniform looked cleaner, but he looked tired. He wore what I now called the standard army uniform tunic, trousers, and black boots. A sheathed sword hung on his side from his belt.

  “We are with Prince Segun,” said the driver. “We just arrived from Nuso.”

  The guard leaned over the cart. He reached for my face, and I jerked back.

  “Easy, girl,” said the soldier. “You are now in a big city. I will not hurt you.”

  The smell of palm wine and rotten teeth was overpowering. I stopped moving so that at least he would stop talking.

  He held my chin and turned my face to get a better look. His eyes lingered on my chest, a hungry look in his good eye, the type not satisfied with food. I kept my head straight, my muscles tightened, ready for flight. But where would I go? Why aren’t the soldiers with our cart paying attention? They’d all become animated once we sighted Ode. Now I wished Dotan was here, and Prince Segun shouldn’t have abandoned us.

  My pulse raced. I wanted to slap his hand away, but fear wouldn’t let me. Our arrival at Ode seemed to have sucked out the confidence I had a few hours ago.

  “Nuso, hey,” said the soldier. “The prince passed a while ago.” He turned and called out to another soldier. “Come and see. This is a beauty. Maybe we can claim her and keep her in the guard room.”

  “No, not going to happen,” said the driver. “Under direct orders from Prince Segun.”

  The second soldier with one good eye walked up, looked at me, and whistled. His eyebrows shot up suggestively; his milk-colored eye looked more revolting with the eye movement. I hissed and looked away.

  The one-eyed soldier leaned closer to the driver. “Tell me, what are the women like over there in the country? Hope not as dried up as the Oyirian slaves we deal with here. Plump and juicy, eh?” He winked suggestively at the driver.

  “Well,” said the driver. “You must wait until you get a chance to visit the country yourself. These are things that are better experienced.”

  “Move that cart out of the way!” a voice bellowed. “There are many more carts waiting to cross the bridge and enter the city.”

  “Idiot,” the one-eyed soldier muttered under his breath. He slapped his palm on the body of our cart. “Move it!” He walked towards the carriage behind us.

  The soldier that had shouted walked with a limp towards our cart. There were more children on the wagons behind. They varied in age and size, from
some as big as Dotan to ones as young as Kemi. Why did they have younger children on board? I wondered.

  “You have only one person in your cart?” asked the soldier when he got up to our cart.

  “Yes,” said the cart driver, looking the soldier over.

  “Well, we’ll add some to yours,” said the soldier. We picked up a few more kids on the way. Their cart had broken a wheel. When are they going to realize that bringing in children from the villages as a sacrifice to the gods is not the answer?” He walked away.

  Did I hear right? Sacrifice to the gods? I remembered the shock and disappointment on Prince Segun’s face when I told him to let Dotan go in my place. He knew what we were being told at Nuso wasn’t what would happen at Ode. And now he had conveniently disappeared.

  The soldier with a limp walked back to our cart with kids in tow. One of them, a girl, reminded me of Kemi. As she climbed up, she tripped and fell. I jumped to my feet. “Are you alright?” I helped her up.

  She nodded and looked at me with the saddest, scared, tear-stained face. She had cried her heart out.

  “Here, sit.” I pointed at the bench and sat down. She lowered herself beside me, her whole body shivering. She held her hands together in her lap to stop the shaking, but it didn’t help.

  “I’m Nuju from Nuso. What's your name?” I asked.

  “Kamara,” said the girl as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She spoke the common language.

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “From Lorin. Please don’t let them get me.”

  Lorin was a village south of Nuso, about a three-day walk. I wanted to say everything would be alright, but I couldn’t. Everything would not be alright. I took Kamara’s hand. “Are you scared?”

  She nodded.

  I took her hand in mine. “I’m scared, too. But we’ll brave it together. Squeeze my hand when you feel afraid, and I’ll squeeze yours when I’m scared.”

  Kamara nodded and started to squeeze right away.

  Chapter Two

  We rocked back and forth as we rumbled up the road. Kamara told me she had turned thirteen a few days before the priestesses came to her village. Her parents were farmers, and she would help in their corn farm after school. She missed her brother, who was ten years old, and her parents, and wondered if she would ever see them again. I had no answer.

  I looked behind at the soldiers who had accompanied us; they were laughing and smiling, glad to be home. It didn’t matter to them that they had taken us from our own homes, from our own families. They were going back to theirs, and that was all that mattered.

  The other children on the wagon looked on with wide eyes and open mouths, the same expression I was sure I had on my face. Ode was a big city, far different from the little villages we’d been taken from. Despite our situation, our surroundings amazed me.

  Men, women, and children moved about. The men in colorful dashikis with brilliant embroidery designs and with caps to match. Most of the women wore buba, with colorful embroidery around the neck. The kids dressed like smaller versions of the adults. They all headed in the same direction, uphill towards a huge building that could be nothing else but the king’s palace.

  Looking at them reminded me of home, Mama, Dotan, and Kemi. A smile crossed my lips; at least Dotan was out of harm’s way. I hoped he hadn’t come back.

  The sound of drums and happy voices drifted down from the hilltop. What do I do? Our guards were not paying attention. I could jump off the cart and disappear into the crowd. From what I saw, it was easier to get out of the city than in. I was a stranger in a strange town and would stand out like a sore thumb. I doubted if I could go far. Even if I did escape, they would send soldiers to Nuso and take it out on Mama, Kemi, and Dotan. Prince Segun had alluded to that.

  “The princess is back!” shouted a man on one side of the road to a woman on the other side. He pointed ahead and kept on walking as if saying, meet me up there.

  Drumbeats and the sound of trumpets got louder. I leaned closer to the cart driver. “How long was the princess away for?”

  His head jerked away, and he looked over his shoulder. “Oh, it’s you.” He laughed and turned back to face the road. “Emm, five years, maybe ten.”

  The cart slowed to a crawl, obstructed by people walking towards the palace. If I wanted to escape, this was the best time. I’d never seen so many people in one place. I looked at the other kids, and all I saw was bewilderment and confusion.

  “She left about the same time King Kenzi ordered the villages to provide their children for the harvest.”

  “Why was she sent away for that long?” I asked. “What about her mother? Did the princess want to go?”

  The driver looked over his shoulder. “A lot of questions. Maybe you should ask her when you meet her.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. I looked around, but none of the other kids paid any attention. That was a lot of questions, I knew. Nobody seemed to mention the king’s wife. It was always the king they talked about. Don’t they have a mother?

  We rode on in silence with the occasional cry or sniffle from a younger child.

  The cart driver spoke over his shoulder. “I think the king needed to be allied with the people of Qtari. As a promise that he wouldn’t spring a surprise attack on them, the king of Qtari demanded he send someone important to them, the Crown Prince, perhaps. You wouldn’t attack a house your child lives in, would you?” The driver laughed.

  I nodded. “So the king sent the princess instead.”

  The driver nodded. “Sometimes you need to do whatever it takes to survive, especially here in Ode. Don’t forget that. You have a good head on your shoulders. Continue to do what you think is right and believe in yourself.” He paused for a second. “I can’t wait to get home to see my family.”

  Why was he so kind to me? Was he sentimental because he was back home?

  We were now in a section of Ode where the houses were larger, more beautiful, and set back from the main road. Must be the homes of nobles and wealthy merchants. Soldiers lined the streets to ensure that the crowd did not leave and move towards the houses.

  “What is that!” said Kamara as we rounded a corner.

  I looked up. Ahead of us were these strange animals. There were about twenty of them. The strange animals looked like overgrown female rams, bigger and taller than horses. Each had a hump on its back and was laden with bundles wrapped in animal skin and bundles of cloth. The mouths of the animals moved from side to side. I watched, fascinated. My plan for what to do next was suspended for the moment.

  “The horses of the desert,” said the cart driver. “Camels; they can travel for days in the desert without water.”

  They looked so strange and big. Some time ago, while in the market at Nuso, a trader had come in with nuts he called dates and said they were from Qtari, a kingdom in the middle of a sea of sand.

  The palace itself dwarfed the magnificence of the camels. It rose four floors with multiple balconies at every level. Ornamental plants grew out of troughs with plants hanging over the terraces and some creeping up the walls, adding to the beauty.

  At the center in front was a massive door with the shield and crossed-spear crest of the king carved into it. Soldiers lined the flight of stairs from the bottom to the door. That was the most significant building I’d ever seen, and I knew there was more.

  The cart couldn’t move any further. The road was choked with people. I noticed the worried looks on the faces of the soldiers around our cart.

  “Everybody, come down,” said the soldier with a limp. “It’s time to walk.”

  I came down and helped Kamara down. The others followed. Behind us, boys and girls from the other carts had also come down from their wagons and now marched up towards us, flanked by soldiers on each side. The crowd parted as people made way for us.

  “Move! Move!” a guard shouted.

  Heart pounding, we walked up the road, and Kamara’s hand held onto mine like a vice. Close
up, the building seemed to be alive. A flight of stairs led up to a corridor before a large door. Chairs with beautiful carvings lined the outside aisle.

  Two uniformed servants pushed the door open and held it open. Oloyes, nobles dressed in dashiki made from expensive-looking materials and men dressed in military uniforms walked out. They were accompanied by well-dressed women who I presumed to be their wives.

  The drums continued to beat, and in the background a musician sang praises to the king, how he conquered nations, ruler of the world, and so on.

  I jumped to the sudden blast of trumpets. The source was a lineup of about ten men with their trumpets on their lips. Everybody went quiet. Even the drums and the musicians. A gray-haired man in a white robe carrying a staff came out. He struck the floor three times with his staff.

  “King Kenzi of Ode!” the man bellowed and bowed his head.

  My pulse raced. The man I would love to make answer for my father’s death was about to appear. As I struggled to breathe, a huge, tall man dressed in military uniform, black trousers, a white shirt, and a red coat with a chest full of ribbons emerged. He was old but still looked powerful. His hair was all white, his face wrinkled, and his eyes dark. He raised his hands, and the soldiers erupted.

  “Long live King Kenzi! Kenzi, Kenzi, Kenzi, Kenzi…”

  King Kenzi lowered his hand, and the cheering died. He walked to a chair that looked to be of solid gold. Behind him walked a young man dressed in the same colors as the king. It took me a moment to recognize Prince Segun. He was all cleaned up. Where was the king's other son? I wondered.